


A Stroke of Luck

by mindabbles



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Auror Draco Malfoy, Auror James Sirius Potter, Auror Partners, Auror Training, Aurors, Blow Jobs, Case Fic, Community: hp_crossgenfest, Cross-Generation Relationship, Exhibitionism, Kissing, M/M, Masturbation, Post-Hogwarts, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-14 22:51:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11793135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mindabbles/pseuds/mindabbles
Summary: James wants two things. A successful career as an Auror and the head of the Auror training department. His first assignment takes an unexpected turn and he’s on the way to getting both.





	A Stroke of Luck

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to the mods for patience and kindness and for running this fantastic fest. Thank you to my beta, gryffindorJ, for encouragement, a sharp eye for B.S. and being awesome.

James ducks down behind the lichen-covered boulder. He feels the hex part his hair and bit of the rock shatter, shards raining down on his head. His heart is pounding and for a moment, he thinks he’s hopelessly cornered. “ _Fuck,_ ” he mutters. He is _not_ going out this way. 

_Breathe _, he reminds himself. Breathe and think. He closes his eyes and pictures the surrounding area – hills, heather, bracken, and rocks. There’s very little cover and, as much as that hurts him, it hurts his opponent, too. He’s two options – he can wait it out and hope the bastard on the other side of the rocks makes a mistake, or he can charge in and try to catch him unawares. Well, he thinks, what would Dad do?__

__James grips his wand and springs from behind the cover of the jagged rock. He points his wand in the direction of the last sound he heard and realises immediately that no one knows he’s moved yet. It gives him a split second advantage and he sprints toward the rock behind which his quarry is hiding._ _

__“ _Expelliarmus_ ,” he bellows as soon as he sees a wisp of pale hair. A wand comes zooming through the air and he catches it deftly in his left hand. He advances, his wand at the ready. “Stand up slowly and place your hands on your head,” he says. _ _

__“Well done, Potter,” says Draco Malfoy. He stands slowly. He does not, however, put his hands on his head in surrender._ _

__James keeps his wand trained at Malfoy’s chest. This isn’t over, not yet. Something could always happen. Someone else could spring from behind another rock. Malfoy could hit him with a wandless hex. And, he’s yet to surrender. “Surrender,” he says._ _

__“Lower your damned wand,” Malfoy says. “You've done it. And congratulations, that’s the first time you got the better of me.”_ _

__James lowers his wand and he can’t help the smile that spreads on his face. After years of study and training and practical exercises, he’s finally done it. He managed to capture not only his favourite instructor, but the head of the bloody training department. “I did, didn’t i?”_ _

__Malfoy frowns and James thinks he’s about to tell him off for insubordination – and it wouldn’t be the first time – but he rolls his eyes and shakes his head, a hint of amusement on his face. Malfoy waves his hand and the lights in the training room come up to daylight level and the rocks sink back into the floor. The clock reappears at the far end of the room and James starts. They’ve been in here, for his final practical examination, two hours. Well, at least he’d got over on Malfoy, even if it took him a bloody long time. “I did, didn’t I, _Sir_ ,” Malfoy says and James can’t help but notice, for the millionth time, how his angular features soften when he smiles. _ _

__“Sir,” James says. “Am I dismissed?”_ _

__“Yes, we’re finished here. You’re dismissed,” says Malfoy, but he looks very much as if he still has something to say._ _

__“Thank you,” says James and he turns to go._ _

__“Hang on,” Malfoy says, reaching to grab James by the wrist. “I can tell you now that you’ve passed. You’ll get the official results by owl in a week or so, but this was your last practical, and with this, you’re finished training. Don’t tell your father I told you.”_ _

__“Wow,” James say. “Thank you, Sir.”_ _

__“You earned it,” he says. “You’ll make a fine Auror,” and as he lets go of James’ wrist, James would swear that there’s a hint of a stroke of his thumb across James’ pulse point._ _

__He’s in the showers before he realises that Mr. Malfoy never surrendered._ _

____

**********

James breathes a sigh of relief when Teddy opens his door and he appears to be alone. He’s still reeling from learning that he’s completed his training and he doesn’t want to go home.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Teddy asks. He steps to the side and waves James in. He smiles as he does and James is hit by a wave of gratitude for Teddy in his life — the combination between a best mate and a big brother.

“I’m finished,” he says and, at the alarmed look on Teddy’s face, he quickly adds, “With training. I’m an Auror, or I will be soon.” 

“Wow,” Teddy says. “We've to celebrate. I’m surprised there hasn’t been a party arranged yet.” He looks at the window as if he’s waiting for an owl with an invitation. 

“I haven’t told anyone yet,” says James. “Only you. I don’t know. I want to have it to myself for a bit.” 

“Oh,” says Teddy. He gives James a fond smile. “Thanks for telling me then. Can I buy you a drink? Here, if you don’t want to go out.” 

“Yeah,” says James. He’s not really sure why he doesn’t want to tell anyone except Teddy, but Teddy’s making him feel okay about that. Teddy gets it — there’s always a fuss and sometimes, you don’t want a fuss. 

James flops onto Teddy’s sofa and Teddy brings two tumblers of Firewhisky. James takes one and sucks in his breath as it burns down his throat. “Hard to believe I don’t have to show up at the training centre on Monday.” James feels a tiny, somewhat unexpected, twinge of regret. 

“Hmm, I can imagine,” Teddy says. “And you won’t be seeing Draco Malfoy anymore.” He takes a sip of his drink and casts a sideways glance at James. “What do you make of that?’ 

“What’re you on about?” 

“You won’t be seeing Malfoy everyday anymore,” Teddy says. “That’s all.” 

“Of course I won’t,” says James. He’s thought of that, of course. He always knew he’d finish training at some point and that he’d miss the man who’d challenged him and mentored him, and if James is being honest, fuelled some lovely wanks. That’s life and James is old enough and mature enough to realise that you have to move on. “What's your point?”

“Nothing,” says Teddy. He shakes his head. “Let’s drink to the newest defender of all that’s good and right in the family.” 

Of course, Teddy’s right. There is a fuss, and a party, and Dad and Mum both a bit tearful as they raise glasses to James’ safety and success. Dad and Uncle Ron tell stories about their early days and Uncle Bill jumps in with exciting tales of his own, and Aunt Hermione warns him not to get caught up in their tales too much. It all only makes James more ready to work. He cannot wait to get started. He cannot wait to foil the plans of criminal masterminds and apprehend dark wizards. 

He wakes up hours before he needs to on his first official day as an Auror. He leaves before his dad because he’s James Sirius Potter, fully qualified Auror — not Jamie, Harry’s son. 

He’s first at the dispatch desk to pick up his new assignment.

An hour later, he’s sat before a desk with a five foot tall stack of files. He’s been assigned to a detail that arranges for and provides security on transports of highly valuable items to and from Gringotts, which could, he thinks, be interesting in and of itself. However, new recruits, apparently, file. At least he’s clearly not getting any special treatment because of his last name, he thinks as he pulls a file off the first stack. 

*

“Right, Potter,” says Helios. “You apparently know the alphabet.” 

James bristles a bit, but then looks up and sees a smile on her face. “Yes, Ma'am,” he says. It’s been a week, and James has done nothing but file. Despite this, he likes Helios. The woman is blunt and no-nonsense, but she has a sense of humour. On day two of the epic filing adventure, she hinted that James could go ahead and read some of the files as he ordered them, and he might learn something. That had made the task a little more interesting. 

“Think you’re up to an actual case?” 

“Definitely,” says James. “Ma'am.” 

“My gift to you – another file,” says Helios. She tosses a file onto the desk. “We have to arrange a transport. Read it carefully and then check in with me on your plan.” 

The file is extensive, with notes from several different departments. His dad's name on a memo jumps out at James along with writing he recognises as Uncle Bill's. The other names, the Death Eater names, are almost comically expected at this point: Malfoy, Nott, Avery, Goyle, LeStrange. James is familiar with all of them. Putting it all together, James sees that the file is about valuable objects somehow related to the war – his dad's war. It's an extensive file dating back to about the time the war ended. Some of the objects were stolen by Death Eaters. The Ministry has been trying to identify them slowly – it would seem very slowly – over the years. Some of the valuables were taken for evidence of crimes and never returned and others have been shrouded in concern over Dark Magic and given to Curse Breakers for testing. 

The top sheet of parchment, secured to the left side of the file, in his dad’s handwriting, says that the testing and formalities are complete, and it’s time to return the items to their rightful owners’ vaults. 

The war-related artefacts have been stored in a neglected corner of the warehouse district, at a Ministry storage facility where everything from old scrolls of meeting minutes to unstable and valuable objects are held. The Floo network can’t be used, and neither can Apparition. James starts to form a plan in his mind. 

“Helios,” James says. “Can I head out and look at the route?” 

She smiles and nods. “Don’t see how you’d be sure you’ve got the right plan if you don’t.” 

James gives his stack of files one last glance and leaps to start on his first real assignment. 

The Ministry warehouse is in an unpromising stretch of Vale Road, a short section of the street that seems to have been missed by the wave of boutiques and hip restaurants and mixed-use lofts that have taken over the area. It’s a forlorn-looking place with faded blue paint and dirty windows and a crooked sign that used to say _Classic Garments_ , but the _i_ has fallen at some point, so it now says _Class c Garments_. No one would give it a second look if they didn’t know what it was. 

It’s about six miles as the crow flies from the warehouse to Gringotts, but it’s a long six miles given the number of alleys, twists and turns, and opportunities for something to go wrong. 

James scribbles notes as he walks the alleys and Apparates onto roofs, trying to recall everything he’s learned about transport security. He’ll arrange for two trunks from Gringotts. An Auror, a Curse Breaker, and an antiquities expert will pack the trunks. Two Aurors, the Curse Breaker, and a Goblin – as insisted upon by Gringotts – will leave the warehouse early on a Saturday morning when no one will expect Ministry business to be going on. James maps out a route that strikes a balance between being direct and being unexpected, mostly over rooftops. They’ll be met by another Auror, who will wait for them in the Leaky Cauldron, to help escort the trunks the rest of the way. 

He’s back at the office within a couple of hours and presents his plan to Helios. She takes her time looking it over. 

“Not sure we have the budget for an antiquities expert, but it’s a good plan, lad. I like the unusual time. I’m guessing you’ve added an Auror in Diagon Alley because on the ground, and among folk who might recognise what’s going on, will be our most vulnerable time,” says Helios and James nods. “Nice touch.” 

James grins and then realises that his stack of files hasn’t shrunk at all in the time he’s been gone.

**********

James, watched closely by Helios, places tracking spells on the Aurors’ and Curse Breaker’s wands. His hand barely shakes, even with Helios watching over him so closely that he can feel the woman’s breath on the back of his neck. They don’t look overly thrilled that their security has been arranged by a brand new recruit and James is fairly sure he hears a muttered comment about the state of moisture behind his ears. The senior Auror leads the way out of the nearly abandoned Ministry. James sends off an owl to Gringotts with the estimated time of arrival, if all goes smoothly, and heads back to his desk with it’s slightly shorter stack of files, to monitor the tracking spells and wait.

James’ wand glows, strong and steady, indicating that all is well with the transport team. Any problems and the Aurors will signal by breaking the connection. Any disasters, and they will send a Patronus. The route James has mapped out will take about an hour, give or take. Helios checks in with him every five minutes and James gets the impression she was maybe not supposed to leave such an important transport plan to a brand new staff member. 

He’s about to take a quick trip to the loo when the light at the tip of his wand stutters. James’ heart skips a beat and he starts to shout for Helios, and alert the standby team, when the light rights itself and glows strong and steady again. He stares at it for another minute and there’s no further disturbance.

In another minute, Helios stops by for her obsessive check in. “Everything all right, lad?” 

“Yeah,” says James. He's nearly certain now that he imagined the light flickering. “Yes, Ma'am,” he adds at Helios’ slightly raised eyebrows and he goes back to his files. 

James checks his watch and his wand. It’s nearly time he should be hearing from the team that they’ve arrived at the Leaky Cauldron and the light on his wand still glows steadily. 

Helios appears at his desk and says, “You’re shipment should be there in a few moments, and since no news is good news, I’m off for a cuppa. Come and let me know when you hear from them.” 

James nods and goes back to his stack of files. He checks his watch. He checks it again. It’s two minutes past when they should have been there. James feels a twinge of anxiety deep in his stomach. He spends two seconds considering the advantages of going to Helios or just making sure everything is all right himself. 

By the time he gets to the Leaky Cauldron and finds Janice Brown, the Auror waiting to meet the team, it’s five minutes and still no word. 

She’s pacing at the door. “Something’s wrong.”

The anxiety that’s been fluttering about settles in James’ stomach. “We should let Helios know.”

“No time,” she says. “If they aren’t here, they need help.” Brown is stout and forbidding looking. She inspires confidence and James feels his inexperience magnified as he looks at her. “No one but us and headquarters know the route.”

“I should let Helios – ” he says again, and he feels thoroughly young and thoroughly un-Gryffindor as he says it. 

“Let your boss know if you need to, but I’m going after my team,” she says and she sizes him up. “Malfoy said you were the best in your class. You coming or not?” 

“I’m coming,” he says quickly. His heart starts to beat hard in his chest and the anxiety shifts to something closer to excitement. Helios will know something happened when she sees that he’s gone.

James and Auror Brown work their way backwards from the Leaky Cauldron to the warehouse, Apparating to the higher rooftops along the route, so they have a vantage point to see over buildings and into alleys, looking for any sign of a disturbance. 

They’re at their third try when James remembers. “About thirty minutes in, my wand flickered. There was a short, I mean one second, flicker of the monitoring spell.” 

“That would’ve been fucking helpful to know ten minutes ago,” Brown says with a growl. 

“Sorry, I only remembered now,” says James. He adds lamely, “It was so short. I didn’t think…”

"That's obvious." 

"Anyway, they would have been at Islington about then,” he says before she can ask the question. 

“Come on then,” she says, glaring at him and then Disapparating. 

They arrive on the rooftop where the team should have been when his wand light faltered. As soon as his stomach stops spinning, he hears a shout. 

“Bloody hell,” shouts Brown and there’s another crack as she Disapparates again. 

James looks down, where Brown has reappeared in the alley below, and his insides freeze. Before the sight can fully register in his brain, he Apparates next to her, and next to four figures slumped unconscious in various unnatural poses on the ground. One of the Aurors has a trickle of blood running down his face. Another has a large blood stain spreading across the bottom of her robes, and the Curse Breaker’s legs and arms are all at alarming angles. The peoples’ wands are lying feet from them, glowing. All James can think is that the spell should have ended if their wands were taken from them.

There’s no sign of the trunks. The Goblin is clutching a bejewelled dagger in one hand. It’s amazing that he’s managed to keep hold of it, because he looks bizarrely as if he were in the middle of doing a shoulder stand when he decided to go to sleep in this dank, smelly alley. 

“Are they dead,” James asks, in a small voice. It’s his fault, is all he can think, and he feels paralysed by that thought. He doesn’t want to look at them anymore, but he can’t look away. 

“No,” snaps Brown. She’s touching each of their faces, feeling their necks for a pulse. “Check that one,” she says, gesturing to Goldwright, the Goblin. He hears her start to work charms to stop the bleeding and stabilise their vitals. 

James goes to the Goblin. His skin is warm and he’s breathing. “He's alive,” says James and he watches as something silvery erupts from Brown’s wand and streaks away. 

“We don’t move them or touch anything down here,” she says as she starts to set stasis charms to preserve the crime scene. “We just freeze everything until the others get here. 

“It’s my fault,” says James. “I should have – ”

Janice stops what she’s doing and looks at him, her face softening for the first time. “We don’t know what happened here. Maybe you should’ve said something earlier, but this is a damned fine team and whatever happened out here, well, unless you leaked the route, that’s not your fault. Now, go and make yourself useful and seal off this alley so no Muggles can wander in and then get back on the roof to see if there’s anything worth noting. The muckety-mucks and the medics will be here in minutes.” 

James is on the roof, looking for signs of a disturbance when Brown calls up to him, “Your superior officer and the Deputy Head Auror are on the way, along with crime scene and medics.” 

“I think there’s something up here,” he calls back down, bending down to examine some scuff marks and a broken tile. He tries to damp down the panic he feels at seeing Helios and Uncle Ron.

“Just mark it,” she says. “Crime scene will have your balls if you disturb anything.” 

Helios looks thunderous when she arrives. Uncle Ron looks grim, an expression that James is not used to seeing on his face. It’s the first time he’s seen his uncle the way other people, at least others in this department, see him. 

Uncle Ron strides over to James and asks, “What happened?” At nearly the same moment, Helios asks, “Why the hell didn’t you tell me you were leaving?” 

James starts to try and explain, while all around him the crime scene investigators and the medics are buzzing, cleaning up after James’ mess. 

An Auror with a red cross on his sleeve comes jogging over to them. “Pardon, Sir,” he says to Ron. “We’re going to need help getting this lot to St. Mungo’s, being that there’s four of them.”

“Right,” says Ron. “James, and Peterson, is it? You two help with the patient transport.” 

James wants to object that this is his crime scene, but a quelling look from Helios reminds him that right now, this is not Uncle Ron. But it is, because Uncle Ron knows him as well as anyone and he places a hand on his shoulder and says in a low voice, “There’s no more important job than getting our wounded to safety, James.” Then he adds in a louder voice, “Potter and Brown, we’ll meet up in the Head Auror’s office in an hour. He’ll want a full update.” 

Bloody hell, thinks James, as he goes to take instructions from the medics.

*

James has been in his dad’s office before. He’s been there to meet his dad for lunch. He’s been there to meet his dad’s colleagues. He’s been there to be welcomed into a new class of Auror trainees. He’s never been there as a complete fuck up.

He follows Helios to the back, left corner of the office. His dad’s behind his desk and Uncle Ron is standing next to him. For a moment, he sees them how other people must see them. It doesn’t do anything for his nerves. It’s not only them, either. There are other senior Aurors around them and someone in Healer’s robes.

“Why are there so many people here?” James whispers to Helios. 

“Lad, you don’t think they’re leaving this with just us, do you? Three people and a Goblin injured. We’ll be lucky if they let us do more than give our statements.”

James feels a combination of anger and shame start to percolate in his stomach. This is his case.

“Right,” says Harry and the soft buzz of people whispering to each other stops immediately. “I’d like status reports from Aurors Helios and Brown and from Healer McFadden.” 

Helios goes through everything she and James know, and Janice reviews that there were few clues as to what happened on the scene – a few scuff marks on the roof, some traces of spells that were either the injured Aurors' or yet to be identified, and nothing unusual cast with any of their wands. She finishes with, “They appear to have fallen from the roof and honestly, Sir, I’ve no idea yet why. It doesn’t add up.” 

“Our examination confirms they did fall from about twenty feet,” says McFadden. “No other apparent serious injuries, but it was quite a fall with nothing to break it, so I’m afraid they're in rather serious condition. We’ve put them in magically induced comas as their internal injuries heal.”

“So,” says Harry, looking grim. “We can’t question them.”

“Not until it’s safe to wake them,” McFadden says. 

Harry turns to Ron. “We’re agreed, what we talked about before?” 

“Yes, I think so,” Ron says. “I’ll go and talk with the others. Two hours?” 

“Yes. Thanks,” says Harry. Ron leaves and Harry makes some notes in the file on his desk. Harry looks in turn at everyone in his office. “Thank you for your updates. You can all return to your desks. You’ll have your instructions within the hour.” 

Everyone nods and leaves the office. James finds that his feet are rooted to the floor. He can’t be dismissed from this case. He just can’t. 

“Potter,” says Helios, touching his elbow. 

James looks from her to his dad. “You have to let me work this. I know I should have said something when the signal faltered. I have to fix this. You can’t take me off it. It’s my bloody case,” James says and at the ringing silence in the room, he realises he’s been shouting. 

Helios is looking at him in disbelief. His dad, perhaps unfortunately, is not. 

“Alba, could I have a word with Auror Potter?” Harry asks.

James has a moment where he doesn’t know who his dad is talking to – he’s never heard anyone use his supervisor’s first name. 

“Of course, Sir,” says Helios. “I will speak with you later,” she says sharply to James. 

Harry closes his office door with a wandless, non-verbal spell and James is reminded of his father’s power. It doesn’t stop him, even as he wishes he could shut his own mouth.

“Please, this is my chance – ”

“If you’d take a breath, I’ll explain it to you,” Harry says in much the same voice he’d used when James was having fits about something Albus or Lily had done when they were kids. “I’m going to be your father for a moment here – son, shouting at your superior officers is not the way to endear yourself to them nor is it the way to advance your career.”

James struggles not to feel like a teenager being scolded and he struggles even more not to let his father see the defiance he feels rising in his chest. He bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from saying anything else. 

"Trust me, James. I know this from experience. I know _exactly_ how you feel." 

“Oh,” says James. “Right.” 

“You are not off the case, but you are certainly not working on it alone. And, as able as Alba is, this is not her area of expertise. Ron and I see this is an excellent training case, especially given that we have five newly qualified Aurors. We’re going to partner experienced people with newly qualified ones to work the different aspects of this case.”

James waits for it. He’s going to be paired with his dad and the Harry Potter comparisons are never going to end. 

“And no, you’re not with me. As much as I’d love to work with you, I’m not going to be an active investigator on this case,” says Harry. Of course, James thinks. His dad doesn’t work cases anymore – he's complained about that more than once over dinner. 

There’s a knock at the door. James is pleased that he doesn’t jump, as on-edge as he feels. His dad seems to be expecting someone and James gets the feeling that if he’d just kept his bloody mouth shut a few minutes longer, he might have avoided the bollocking that’s sure to come from Helios. 

“That'll be your new partner. Before he comes in, I want to make it clear that if you behave in the way you just did at work again, whether I’m here or not, you’ll answer to your superior officer, not me,” says Harry and his office door swings open without him uttering an incantation. 

Draco Malfoy is standing in the doorframe. His new partner. James feels his stomach swoop as he wonders if he will ever stop needing to impress Malfoy.

“Auror Potter,” says Draco with a slight nod at James. “Sir,” he says, with a flick of his chin at Harry. 

“Thanks for coming,” Harry says to Draco before turning to James. “Chief Instructor Malfoy has agreed to step back into the field to work with you. His expertise in tracking and in magical objects will come in very handy here, and you, James, will do well to pay attention and learn from him.” 

“Yes, Sir,” says James, thinking that he has been paying attention to Draco Malfoy for years.

**********

It’s familiar and comfortable, if slightly nerve-racking, to be in a room with Draco, going over a case. James has to keep reminding himself that this is not a training scenario. This is real.

“Damn it,” says James, after a third review of the crime scene notes doesn’t tell him anything new. 

Draco looks up from the file he’s reviewing. He walks over and James can feel his presence, right behind him, looking over his shoulder. “I'm going to tell you this once,” says Draco. “You need to get your head back on straight. You’re going to be no use to me if you can’t shake whatever’s got your knickers in a twist.”

James opens his mouth to argue that his head is on perfectly straight, thank you very much. But, this is Draco who knows all of his strengths and all of his weaknesses as an Auror. “This is my fault,” James says. “The injuries, the lost trunks, all of it.” 

“I see you've inherited the Potter grandiosity gene,” Draco says. Remembering his dad’s warning about insubordination, James does his best not to glare at Draco. Draco sighs. “This is what I mean. If you let your neuroses dictate how you work a case, it will fail every time. I thought I’d taught you that.” 

“Yes, sir,” James says. “The thing is…” 

“This is real, but if you thought what I was teaching you these past couple of years was all theoretical, then there’s two options – I’m a piss-poor instructor or I completely misjudged your potential. So, stop the self-flagellation before I regret the final evaluation I wrote you from academy and let’s go back over what we know.” 

James takes a deep breath. He can feel his blood pressure dropping, with Draco’s competent, firm instruction. He knows how to do this. “Right, I’ll start with a list of everything that was taken, who the objects were tied to, where they originated, who might be interested in them.”

“Start with some of the usual suspects, but we need to look at everyone who knew about the transport or even the collection of the objects. Who had the access? Who on the list that we create had the skill to take on the team you set up?” 

James furiously scribbles notes of everything Draco is saying. “And, given the contents of trunks, we should look at the emotional connection some people might have to it. I mean people whose families…” James trails off. It’s hard for him to remember the full weight of what he knows about Draco’s past, when compared with the man who stands before him now. 

“Families who might have resentments or attachments related to these objects,” says Draco, giving James a level gaze. “Like mine.” 

“Sorry, Sir – I didn’t mean – ” James feels his cheeks heat, feeling wrong-footed and awkward beyond, he realises, what the situation probably calls for. 

“I hope you did mean. You’re quite right. You can’t exempt people because of affection or respect you might have for them, though I thank you for the consideration,” Draco says, and James feels immediately lighter. “And, if we are going to be actual partners, you should probably call me Draco or Malfoy if you prefer. Now, I think we should send a full inventory, including photographs, to our colleagues abroad. Let’s start with Europe and North Africa, and ask them to let us know if any of these items show up in their jurisdictions. If we need to go farther afield we will, but that should do it for now.”

“Yes, Sir – Draco,” says James, and as odd as it feels, he likes the way the name trips off his tongue.

**********

James is tired. He can feel the exhaustion in his marrow.

“Here. Drink this,” says Draco, handing him a phial of Pepper-Up Potion. “It’s not sleep, but it’s as good as we’re going to get.” 

“Are stake outs always this exciting?” James asks. He takes the potion and his fingers brush Draco’s as he does. The contact wakes James up better than any potion; he drinks it anyway. 

They’ve been sitting in a fake taxi cab, leant to them by the French Ministry, outside what looks like a regular pawn shop for hours, watching forlorn looking people go into the shop with a treasured object and come out without it. 

“No, sometimes there’s less action and fewer pastries,” Draco says. 

James glances at the empty brown paper bag. “There could be more pastries.” 

 

Draco smiles and James thinks he’d like to make Draco smile more – he looks warmer, less pointy and severe when he smiles. 

James unrolls the parchment that’s lying in his lap and reads it for the tenth time in an hour. The British liaison officer in the French Ministry wrote that the proprietor of _Les Nouveaux Pour Vous_ got suspicious when a very jumpy man came in three times in a day to ask about the value of three different rare objects. When he pressed the man on his name, the man said he was Neville Longbottom. Monsieur Nouveaux had enough of a nodding acquaintance with history that he called it in to the local Gendarmerie.

“What made you decide to be an Auror?” Draco asks. 

James nearly drops the parchment. No one has ever asked him that before. Everyone has always just assumed he had a burning desire to follow in his dad’s footsteps. 

“You don’t think it’s because of my dad?” He can’t help it, the words come out of his mouth.

Draco shrugs. “Might be part of it, but I’ve known you long enough to know you’ve a mind of your own.” 

“My god brother, Teddy Lupin,” James says. 

“My cousin, as it happens,” says Draco quietly. 

“Right, of course,” says James. He turns to look at Draco. He’s very still, listening intently, his long, elegant hands resting on the cracked steering wheel of the taxi. “He was like this super hero to me when we were small. He he used to have nightmares about his parents, even though he was just a baby when they died. I didn’t really understand. All I knew was that dark wizards made him afraid and when I was about six, I promised him I would stop them from hurting anyone else.” James has never told anyone but Teddy that. He waits for Draco to make a comment about ridiculous Gryffindors. 

“And now you’ve seen what we suspect are dark wizards hurt people, people you were in charge of sending out to the field,” Draco says. His voice is quiet and kind. 

James feels his breath leave him in a sigh as a sharp wave of discomfort overtakes him at this unexpected kindness. 

“I’ll say again. It’s not your fault and you are going to help make sure whoever it is doesn’t hurt anyone else. We will find them,” Draco says, giving him a serious and firm look. It makes James feel safe. 

“Why did you?” James asks. “Become an Auror.” 

“Heads up,” says Draco, gesturing with a nod at a shabby looking man in a long trench coat entering the alley next to the pawn shop. He fits the description of ‘Neville Longbottom’ that Monsieur Saultier, the proprietor, had given the French Ministry. “Come on.”

Draco slides elegantly from the driver’s seat of the taxi. James loves the way he moves – all confidence and grace. James, on the other hand, nearly trips over the kerb because he’s too busy watching the way Draco’s trousers cling to his arse as he strides over to the shop. 

There’s a side door onto the alley, Monsieur Saultier had informed them, what seems like days ago, when they arrived. They go into the shop and Saultier raises his eyebrows, nods, and slips into his back room. 

Draco gestures to James to stand to the left of the door and back him up. Draco draws his wand and stops by the door, taking a breath, readying himself. James’ heart is pounding. Draco opens the door and steps into the alley in one movement. James his right behind him. 

“Bloody hell,” shouts Draco and he jumps back, knocking into James. Draco’s shaking his foot, encased in his very expensive shoe, as if something is clinging to it. 

James catches himself on the shop’s counter and sees an extremely startled-looking Muggle holding his prick, frozen almost comically, in the middle of having a piss.

“I could have lived a lifetime without having that experience,” says Draco, five minutes later as they are leaving the alley next to the pawnshop. The man ran off before they could Obliviate him, but James reckons he’s not likely to make much of the bits of wood in their hands and he’s not likely to trust his memory of the words Draco said that were the charm he used to clean his shoe. 

“Back to waiting, I reckon,” says James as he settles himself back in the passenger seat of the cab. 

*

There’s a sharp knock on the taxi’s window. A compact, muscular woman with a severe hair cut is standing next to the cab. She’s wearing casual Muggle clothes, but she is absolutely, unmistakably an Auror.

She flashes a badge and hops into the back seat of the taxi. 

“Good afternoon,” says Draco, apparently not fussed that a strange Auror just jumped into the cab without any notice. 

“Gendarme Thierry,” she says brusquely. “I have a message.” 

James turns to look at her and she's suddenly in her uniform, looking like she was born to wear it; the smart red piping and shiny silver buttons perfectly maintained. She’s the sort of person who walks into a room and owns it. If James was attracted to women, he’d be enthralled. 

“Your man, he’s at L’Hotel Valette,” she says. “We can Disapparate just there.” She points to the alley next to the pawn shop.

“Watch where you step,” Draco says as he gets out of the taxi. 

*

L’Hotel Valette sits off a small, charming square. Wrought iron tables with red umbrellas decorate the pavement in front of the bright green door with an ornate stained-glass window at its top. The paint is peeling around the bottom of the door and the window boxes are streaked with mildew, despite the cheery red geraniums blooming optimistically over their wooden sides. 

Draco holds the door for Thierry and then James holds it for Draco. Draco gives him a quizzical, interested look as he steps into the hotel after Thierry and James has to force himself not to look down and away. 

Thierry approaches the front desk and the woman working there with the same brusque efficiency as she did their taxi. Their short conversation is quiet and their speech fast and James only catches a word here and there. What he does get is, “Jusqu’à hier. Troisième étage.” 

Thierry nods to them, gesturing toward the stairs. “Third floor room. Since yesterday.” 

Draco leads the way, James following close behind him. 

The hotel is cool and dark, despite the bright sunshine and heat outside. It must be five hundred years old. The stone walls are lavishly carved and hung with tapestries and paintings that are probably worth more than the treasures they are here hunting down. The difference between the outside and the inside is remarkable. Not only the décor, but the size. The ceilings are high and if the size of the doors to the rooms is any indication, they are huge. Whoever these people are, they are not worrying about running through their haul. 

James watches Draco ascend the stair ahead of him. He’s careful and elegant, navigating the polished marble steps that dip slightly in the centre, showing the wear of centuries of feet on them. Draco’s frame is long and lean. His perfectly tailored trousers cling to his body and James can’t look away from him. His foot slips on a particularly worn step and Draco glances back, giving him a quelling look and a, “Shh.” James feels his face heat. 

In the third floor corridor, James walks quickly to take over the lead – anxious to redeem himself for the slip on the stairs. He reaches it first and the door to room 319 swings open to James’ spell. He knows Draco wanted to go in first, can see it on his face, but James got their first, his wand at the door handle. Draco nods and James feels a tiny thrill of victory that Draco’s yielding lead to him. 

The moment James is able to see into the room, he senses more than sees a flash of light and a second later, hears a scuffle. He raises his wand and charges into the room, or at least that’s his intention. Before he can step through the door, he’s nearly knocked off his feet by Draco pushing past him, shouting, “ _Protego_ ” as he goes. James is right on Draco’s heels, though, and he’s in the room in time to hear a crack and see someone disappear. 

“He is gone,” says Thierry and James thinks that’s bloody obvious. 

Draco sighs and says, “I think we can presume that we’re on the right track, at any rate.” He runs his finger over a long scar in the door frame where the spell narrowly missed one of their heads. He turns to look at James. “Potter, let the hotel know we’ll be in here for about an hour.” 

James is so irritated at Draco treating him like a child to be protected that he can’t speak. He turns on his heel and thunders down the stairs to use his terrible French to let the woman at the front desk know they’ll be tearing up her very nice hotel room looking for clues. 

When he gets back to the room he can't shake it. He can feel the anger roiling around his chest like thunder. It’s mixed with shame, which makes it burn hotter than usual. He’s snapped at Draco four times as he, James and Thierry have gone over every inch of this hotel room. Draco has raised an eyebrow at him, but said nothing. James is reminded that Draco knows his dad and maybe Mum’s right – maybe they are just alike when they are in a temper. 

“Potter, come and take a look at this,” Draco says. 

Something inside James that he can’t control, and doesn’t like much if he’s being honest, makes him ignore Draco. He’s his partner and his superior. He’s acting like a child and he knows it, but he can’t stop himself. 

“Potter,” Draco says again, more firmly this time. “A word.” 

James looks up and Draco jerks his head toward the corridor. Thierry gives them an exasperated look and goes on testing the antique, scrolled desk for forensics. 

They step into the hallway and Draco turns to face him and crosses his arms across his chest. His lips are a thin line. James is a little disturbed that the irritated look on Draco’s face makes him want to smack him and kiss him in equal measure. 

“What is up your arse?” Draco asks. 

“Nothing at the moment. You offering?” James snaps. He regrets it immediately. Draco’s expression goes from irritated to something between disappointed and furious. 

“Next time, I'll let the bastard hex you,” Draco says. 

“I can take care of myself. I don't need you to fucking jump in and save me,” James says. He wishes he could shut up, but this anger seems to have a death grip on his brain. “Are you afraid of my father?” 

“Unfortunately, right now, you're my partner. I have your back, you have mine,” says Draco. He steps closer, crowding James, stepping too close to him, with his finely sculpted face and his intense grey eyes. “It’s nothing to do with your bloody father.” 

James shoves Draco and feels it as his back connects with the wall. 

Before he knows what's happened, they've switched places and James is against the wall, Draco's forearm across his collarbones, pressing just hard enough to feel it deep in his chest. James' breath catches at the fierce look in Draco’s eyes. 

Draco's voice is deadly calm as he says, "Don't do that again." 

James stares back at him, silent. He knows he's pushed it enough. Draco puts just a little more pressure on James' throat. His eyes flare and his gaze drops to James' mouth. 

Draco's face shutters and he steps back. "I'm your partner, and your superior. Now get whatever evidence Thierry has and send it back to London. Then get some sleep and get yourself under control. We leave for Florence first thing."

Draco’s hand is shaking as he straightens his robes. James slumps against the wall to catch his breath. His whole body is trembling and he’s hard as a rock.

**********

James feels the coffee start to take effect, layers of fog lifting from his brain. He’d had a blindingly good wank and then piss poor night of sleep. He’d at least been able to pull himself together to apologise to Draco for his conduct yesterday.

When he’d apologised, Draco had given him a small smile that warmed his insides more than it should have and said, “I knew you had it in you, Potter.” James is still not sure what “it” is, but he does know that the chilly reception he got first thing this morning has warmed a bit. 

It’s a good thing that Draco seems to have forgiven him. They are on their own again, having left the evidence collected in Paris with Gendarme Thierry as they head to Florence on a tip from the Auror office there. James can’t say he minds – Thierry was good to have around, but he can do without the looks she gave him whenever he spoke to Draco.

It’s warmer in Florence than it was in Paris. The air is sticky and James is ready to stop tramping down the narrow streets, as beautiful as they are. 

“It’s near here, right?” James asks, nodding at the parchment Draco has in his hand. 

“You mean to tell me you didn’t memorise the instructions we were sent?” Draco asks. “Don’t make me doubt my teaching skills.” 

At that moment, he looks up and sees a white sign with bold, black print that reads _Piazza Santo Spirito_. “It’s here somewhere,” he says.

“Very good. I no longer have to revaluate my life’s work,” Draco says. James decides not to examine the little thrill he feels at the combination of praise and teasing. 

They step onto a square right out of a painting. An imposing church dominates the space and the stucco of the buildings is gold in the morning light. The sky is a bright blue, dotted with puffy clouds, and early morning shoppers stroll through an outdoor market. The stalls are piled with vegetables and fruit of every colour. 

“Damn it,” Draco says, scanning the scene.

“Too many people here,” James says. 

“Good, again.” 

“We’ll just have to be quick about it, before it gets too busy,” James says. He wants to kick himself as he finds himself hoping for another morsel of praise. Merlin, he should just drop to his knees and lick the man’s boots. James shakes his head to rid his brain of the image of him on his knees in front of Draco. 

He looks up and Draco’s giving him a bemused look. He must have been lost in that image longer than he realised. “That’s one strategy,” Draco says. “Another is to take our time, wait until the moment’s right.” 

For one unsettling moment, James wonders if they’re still talking about the case. “Uh, you mean until we approach the suspect, right?” 

Draco gives him that look again. “Of course. Now, let’s set up a more comfortable arrangement for this stakeout than an old taxi cab.” 

At the corner of the square is a small hotel with bright green shutters and tables with white umbrellas on its front steps. Inside, the air is cooler and a little musty. Unlike the Paris hotel, the place is not larger on the inside than on the outside and the only fresh air is coming from the windows and some slowly turning ceiling fans. There’s no magic influence here at all. 

“Is this a good tip?” James asks. “Seems odd.” 

“Thieves must occasionally stay in Muggle hotels,” Draco says quietly. He walks up to the unstaffed front desk and picks up a small brass bell. The bell makes a pleasant sound and a fresh-faced young woman comes almost immediately from the back room. 

James is about to ask if she speaks English when Draco begins speaking in Italian. It sounds almost unbearably lovely, sliding off Draco’s tongue. And James really needs to stop thinking about Draco’s tongue. After two sentences, he asks, “May I ask, are you English?” 

“Oh yes,” she says. “Mary’s the name. I don’t like to say because people do like to practice their Italian, don’t they? Sometimes people take offence if I just start to answering in English. Better that you asked, really. What brings you gents here, then? Oh, it’s lovely to hear an English voice, other than my own I mean. What did you say brought you here?” 

“We didn’t,” Draco says, but with such a charming smile that Mary beams back at him. “We would like a room.”

“Just the one?” Mary asks, glancing back and forth between the two of them. “Only most of the room’s has got only the one bed. Not that such is any of my business, but we don’t let rooms by the hour, if you know what I mean.” 

“Just the one, and we’ll need more than an hour,” Draco says, smiling. “We’d like a view of the square, if you please. The north side.” 

James can’t believe he doesn’t correct her and the images that are springing into his head are making standing here in a public lobby very uncomfortable. 

“Right you are,” she says. “You’re lucky today. There’s breakfast in the sitting room and this room has an adjoining bath.” She hands him a key card and gives James a wink. 

There’s a rickety lift with a cage that’s pulled shut before they can press the button for the second floor. 

“I believe she thought you were an escort,” Draco says as soon as the lift moves them out of Mary’s earshot. 

“Why am I the rent boy in this scenario?” James asks, crossing his arms and cracking a half-smile. 

“Please,” says Draco. He looks James up and down and James feels the gaze like it’s a touch. 

Draco laughs lightly and looks away and the moment passes as the lift shudders to a stop. 

“And why are we letting a room – surely we could set up better surveillance in the square.” 

“If we’re lucky today, you shall see,” says Draco. 

James groans quietly as they step out of the lift. He’s not sure how he’s going to survive this without jumping on his superior officer. 

The hotel room has a perfect view of the square, the front entrance, and the alley between this hotel and the building next to it. James sits in an ornate but comfortable chair by the window, watching for their Neville impersonator to make an appearance. 

Draco’s in the bath, having a shower, and James can’t stop picturing how his pale hair would darken in the water and how rivulets of water would look running down his body. He shifts uncomfortably in his chair and bloody well hopes that Draco will come back from his wash fully dressed. 

They’ve not found as much as he’d hoped. None of the magical signatures from the crime scene or from the room in Paris match up with any of the usual suspects in their files. The thief or thieves don’t seem to have any real rhyme or reason behind what they are trying to sell and where they’re trying to sell it. And, all of the members of families whose belongings were being returned or are related to the items in some way, are completely accounted for. If James thought this would be easy, he’s being disabused of that notion. 

“Anything?” 

James turns at the opening of the door and the sound of Draco’s voice. He’s dressed, such as it is, but it’s almost worse than if he'd come out in a towel. He’s wearing charcoal grey trousers and his white shirt is untucked and only one button is fastened, the sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms. His hair is damp, his feet are bare, and his skin is still pink from the hot water.

James clears his throat. “Um, no. Just people going to the café or the market.” 

Draco comes over to where James is sitting and looks out the window. He leans over and James lets himself look over the long line of Draco’s body and the way his trousers fit his narrow hips perfectly. 

Draco’s hand drops onto James’ shoulder and James feels the warmth of his hand tingle through his clothes. “Take a break,” Draco says. “Stretch, get some coffee. I’ll watch for a bit.” 

James stands and he’s right in front of Draco. Draco doesn’t step back. The man does have a way of getting in James’ space – and his head. 

There’s a faint _crack_ from the alley behind the hotel. They look at each other for a split second before Draco says, “I’ll go to the back end, you by the square. Seal it off.” 

They both Disapparate, Draco to the back end of the alley, off the square, and James to the front. He sets a _Notice-me-not_ charm where the alley meets the market square to make sure none of the vendors or shoppers with feathery sprays of carrot-tops bouncing along at the top of their string shopping bags decide to take a short cut. 

“At your six!” Draco shouts and James whirls, casting a shield charm just in time to block a hex, one he doesn’t recognise.

Another jinx fires down the alley and James can’t see who’s attacking them from the shadows. Draco’s battling with someone and James performs another shield charm and tears down the alley to his partner. 

“Behind the bins,” pants Draco. He’s pressed his back against the wall in a doorway – the best cover he could find. “Three of them. They can’t come out without us seeing them, and we can’t move without them seeing us.” 

James throws himself into the doorway with Draco and gasps out, “What’s the plan?” 

“Tell me,” says Draco.

“Is this a teaching moment? Really?” James asks. Another hex flies randomly from behind the bins, ricocheting off the brick wall, a few feet from where they’re hid. 

Draco flattens himself harder against the wall. “Well?” 

It hits James then that this is remarkably like the last training exercise he and Draco did together, except that there are three of them. Then again, he and Draco are two. 

“Cover me and I’ll run at them,” James says. “They won’t expect it and they might scatter.” 

“Or they might kill you,” Draco says. Another jet of light hits the wall. “They’re getting restless. They might make a mistake – something I wasn’t likely to do when you tried that approach on me.”

They’ve been quiet for a good five seconds.“We have good cover here,” says James. “We wait.” 

It’s not more than another thirty seconds until the bins shift a little. A mop of scraggly, dirty ginger hair appears between two of them. A short man in a shabby trench coat follows the ginger hair out from behind the bins. This man doesn’t fit the description of the false Neville Longbottom at all, but his being here must be related. They won’t have an advantage for long because the three know where they are. 

“Go now,” whispers Draco. “I’ll cover you.” 

James leaps out from the safety of the doorway. “Halt,” he says, pointing his wand at the man.

“Bloody – Ha – bugger,” shouts the man. He moves to hex James. James is faster and Draco’s right behind him and James sees resignation in his face as he raises his hands and barks at the people behind him to go.

Draco dashes down the alley, sending a stunning spell the way of the two hiding behind the bins. He’s too late. They’re gone. 

* 

“I thought you were your father,” says the shabby man. “You don’t half look like him. He’s always good to me. Old friends, we are.” 

In the intervening moments, James has learned that this man is named Mundungus Fletcher, that he's apparently an acquaintance of his father’s, and that the other two who have escaped are a man and a woman. His heart is still pounding and he can feel the adrenaline rolling off Draco in waves. 

“You haven’t managed to come up with a new career by now?” Draco asks. “You must like the food in Azkaban.” 

“I haven’t done nothing,” he says. 

“Except attempt to assault an Auror.” 

Fletcher clamps his lips together almost comically. Draco holds Fletcher’s wrists together behind his back with one hand and taps the doorframe of the loo with the other. The antique pedestal sink and claw-foot tub disappear, to be replaced with a concrete bench and a small sink set into the wall. He flicks his wand and the bench is covered in a thin mattress and blanket. It takes him about two seconds and James has to admit he finds it incredibly hot. 

Draco ushers Fletcher into the newly created holding cell and slams the door shut. Draco turns and James is so close behind him, watching everything he does, learning every movement, that Draco slams into him and James’ back connects with the wall.

Draco is just tall enough to look down on James, make him feel trapped, pinned against the wall. James can’t breath and Draco is so close. 

Draco moves so fast James has no time to process what’s happening until he feels Draco’s lips on his. He feels the kiss to his toes, a spark that warms his whole body. He presses back and Draco pulls his lower lip between his lips. James’ knees nearly buckle, but he’s held against the wall by Draco’s body. He’s already hard and he gasps as Draco’s tongue touches his.

Draco pulls back so abruptly that James staggers forward. 

“Damn it,” says Draco. He turns and he’s completely composed again. “Get some sleep. I’ll take first watch.” 

James tries to catch his breath and to will his prick to calm down. He doubts very seriously that he’s going to get any sleep.

**********

There isn’t enough coffee in all of Italy to wake him up this morning. It was a very long night. They took turns watching the improvised holding cell, trying to get some rest, and answering owls from London. Every time they passed near each other, Draco stepped back or averted his eyes.

Draco doesn’t look like someone who’s been up all night. He looks slightly paler than usual, but his clothes are immaculate and so is his hair. James would hate that about him if he didn’t find it so attractive. James, on the other hand, looks a bit like he’s been on a bender and then dragged through the shrubbery backwards. 

They’ve got nowhere with the suspect. He’s either not talking or he doesn’t know anything. 

“Are you ready to give him another go?” Draco asks. “I think you should take point and I’ll watch from out here.”

“How long are we going to keep asking him the same questions?” James asks. His brain is fuzzy beyond reason and he feels like they’ve all been having the same conversation again and again at sixty minute intervals all night. 

“I’m starting to believe he doesn’t know much, but we have to keep trying until we get another lead. He seems to like you, maybe you can get him talking about when he knew your father,” Draco says. Draco hands him a tray with a huge, frothy cappuccino and a Cornetto. “Take him some breakfast. Soften him up a bit.” 

James taps the door of the temporary holding cell with his wand and it swings open. Fletcher sits up on his cot and he looks the best rested of all of them. 

“Ta very much,” he says when he sees the tray. “You’re a kind sort, like your dad.” 

“You weren’t very nice to me yesterday,” James says. “Still trying to work out why you attacked us.” 

“Had no idea why you were coming at us, did I?” Fletcher’s speech is slightly muffled by the big chunk of Cornetto he’s torn off with his front teeth. 

“Why'd you attack us, if you had no idea why we were there?” James sits down on the chair near the door, trying to adopt a non-threatening demeanour. 

“Didn’t know you were bloody Aurors, did I? All I saw is two blokes, wands drawn, accosting me as I returned to my place of residence.” Fletcher takes a big slurp of his cappuccino. He has a foam moustache when he pulls the cup away and James has to bite back a laugh. 

“This is a hotel, it’s hardly your residence,” says James, still going for friendly, but trying to build the pressure just as he was trained. 

“I’ve let a room. It’s mine for now, where I’m residing, innit? Always fancied living in Italy.”

“You’re a terrible liar, you know,” says James. 

“I’m a very good liar, I’ll have you know,” Fletcher says. He freezes for a split second. “Not that I’m lying just the now.” 

“Of course not. It’s your dream to live in Italy,” James says. “So maybe you can tell me why we have it on good authority that you and your associates were seen trying to sell some valuable goods to an undercover Auror.” 

“I deal in valuable goods, I do,” Fletcher says. “Been doin’ so for years. Ask your dad, why I – on second thought, don’t ask him.” 

“He’s not here, but I am and these goods were stolen,” James says. 

“Don’t know nothin’ about that,” says Fletcher. “I find. I procure. I gather. I might even appropriate on occasion, but I don’t steal. Not no more, at any rate.” 

“Maybe another night in here will help you remember,” James says, standing up to go.

He would swear that Fletcher smiles. He does settle back onto the cot, the last bite of his pastry in hand and say, “Maybe it will. Can’t say either way.” 

“We’re getting nothing out of him,” Draco says as soon as James steps out of the room. 

“Do you believe him?” James asks. He doesn’t look directly into Draco’s eyes. He can’t do that without reliving that kiss and he can’t relive that kiss without wanting to grab Draco. 

“Do you?” Draco asks, adopting the tone of a teacher. 

It almost irritates James, but he’s too busy trying not to be unbearably attracted to him and he’s too tired, so he can’t muster the energy. “I think I’m starting to.” 

“I do,” Draco says. “I mean, he doesn’t seem clever enough to be making up lies, does he?” 

“And while he hasn’t denied anything, he doesn’t really seem to know where the stuff came from. I think he would've let it slip at some point,” James says. There’s a carafe of coffee on the little table by the window. He pours himself a cup and adds milk. He should eat something soon, but all there is are the pastries and he can’t face anything sweet. “Do you think he’s anything to tell us?” 

“Not as such,” Draco says. “Any idea what really sealed it for me?” 

James pauses over a sip of his coffee. He thinks back over the interview. Fletcher seemed on-guard and wary the whole time. Last night and this morning, all of his answers were vague and, although he’s admitted he was selling something, he’s never shared anything else. The only times he’s seemed to relax a bit and the only times he gave James eye contact are when he mentioned James’ dad to him and, at the end, when James threatened him with another night in the temporary holding cell. 

“He seemed almost relieved that we’re keeping him in custody.” 

“Exactly,” says Draco. “He’s worried he’s in trouble with his mates for getting caught. He’s not in charge. Well done.”

James’ insides warm at the praise and they warm even more at the way that Draco’s gaze drops to his mouth and lingers there for a moment. He clenches his lips together and takes a deep breath and says, “I’m going to check in with the locals to see if there’s any more chatter or attempts to sell the goods. You stay here with him and watch for any owls from London or Paris. I’ll bring back some food and we’ll talk through where we stand.” 

Draco turns to go and James grabs a stack of files and settles in a seat where he can see the holding cell, the hotel door, and the window over the square. He’s fairly sure no one’s coming to try and break Fletcher free, but he’s going to keep an eye out anyway. 

It’s all James can do to keep his eyes open. After several failed attempts to force the case files to produce some new information, one owl to his parents to let them know he’s okay, and one owl to Teddy to admit that he’s in adolescent crush hell, James finally lands on analysing and re-analysing that kiss as the only way to keep himself awake. 

By the time Draco arrives back at the room, James is in full-blown twist about it. He can feel Draco’s lips on his and the way Draco pulled back in equal measure. He has also worked out about a dozen different theories as to why Draco has hardly looked at him and hasn’t said a word about it. 

“I brought food,” says Draco, placing. packets of meat and cheese and a loaf of bread on the little hotel table. 

“So we’re going to pretend that kiss didn’t happen?” James asks. Draco looks up and it’s clear that that’s not quite the response he expected. 

Draco runs a hand through his pale, fine hair. Despite his fury, James finds himself envying those fingers. “And how should I behave differently?” Draco asks, his face shuttering. 

“I don’t know,” says James, on the verge of shouting. “Say something about it? Look at me? Do it again?” 

Draco sighs and James has the horrible feeling he’s thinking that this is just what he was afraid would happen. “It's inappropriate. I'm not going to touch you,” says Draco and James has the hint of an impression that Draco is trying to convince himself. “I was your teacher and I’m your superior. We’re in the field and were in danger when, well, it’s not the right time. And, we’ve a suspect who we have to charge, transfer back to London, or release by the end of today. So, I'm going to go and interview him again. Please take notes and have something to eat.” 

James picks up the parchment where they’re keeping interview notes and a quill and notes that, with all that Draco did say, he did not say the kiss was a mistake. 

James loves watching Draco work. He puts Fletcher at ease and gets him talking about his travails, and then he pushes him only to the point where he’s on the edge and about to lose trust.

“You’re Malfoy’s lad,” Fletcher says. Draco doesn’t blink. “I always thought it was unfair, blaming you for what your Da did. I wouldn’t like to be held to what my Da did.”

“We understand each other, you and me,” Draco says. “Sometimes you get caught in something you've no control of.” 

“Truer words,” Fletcher says. “Now, if you’d let me go, like, I could maybe get out of it.” 

“You don’t want to go, though, really,” Draco says.

“Huh?” Fletcher scratches his raggedy hair and flicks something off his finger. James can see Draco work not to flinch away.

“If you wanted gone, you’d tell us who you're working with. Or for. Maybe that’s it. You’re in over your head and maybe we can help you. Let us help you. You don’t want to go down for murder, and of Aurors too. That doesn’t seem your style.” 

“Murder?" Fletcher yelps. "I haven’t done no murder. You can’t say as I did. I don’t know what you’re on about. I jus' told ‘em I’d help ‘em move the stu – ”

“Who’s them, Dung?” Asks Draco kindly. “That who you’re frightened of, isn’t it?” 

“I think I need some water,” says Fletcher, crossing his arms over his chest. “And I think I might need to talk to an advocate.”

Draco doesn’t show the disappointment he must be feeling. He just says, “Of course. I’ll get you the water, and you think about whether or not you want to wait for an advocate to come all the way from London.” 

Draco steps out of the holding cell and leans against the wall, his head falling back to bump against it. “Damn it,” he says quietly. 

James says, “Maybe he’s not even involved with the others. Maybe he planned this whole thing and he’s stringing us along.” 

“Mundungus Fletcher is the mastermind behind a heist that left four injured and no useable clues? I find that difficult to believe.” 

“When I was small, I had a game. It was a maze with a little ball and if you didn’t hold it just so, the ball just bounced around and around in dead ends,” says James. 

“Sounds familiar,” says Draco. He looks James right in the eye for the first time since they kissed. “You haven’t had a rest. Why don’t you go and have a shower and a lie down and I’ll go back over what we have so far. We've several hours before we have to do something with him and nothing’s happening before then.” 

James goes to the adjoining room they’ve let since it became clear they’d be here for a night. His robes feel hot and dank. He sheds them and his shirt as soon as the door swings shut. The air feels almost cool on his body and he can’t wait to get to the shower and rinse off the dust and grime. His cock’s got half hard every time he’s thought about that kiss and he can still feel the way Draco’s lips pressed to his. He slips his trousers and pants off and he might make that shower cold, he thinks, as he circles his cock lightly with his fingers. 

There’s a knock at the door and it flies open before the protest even forms on James's lips. “Your father might – ” 

James turns without thinking and Draco stops in the open door. He makes a small “oh” sound and for a second, James thinks he’s going to leave. 

James forces himself not to move, not to cover up. He moves his hand on his cock, and it starts to stiffen. Draco steps all the way into the room and closes the door. 

“Should've knocked,” Draco says.

“You did,” says James. 

Draco doesn’t move any closer and James’ resolve falters. He drops his hand and starts to reach for his clothes.

“Don’t,” says Draco. “Let me see.” 

James rest his hand on the back of the chair behind him, just so it won’t be dangling awkwardly at his side. Draco watches. He stares at James’ face and slowly moves his gaze over James’ body. James feels his cock get steadily harder as Draco stares at him. 

“I interrupted you,” says Draco. He purses his lips and blows out his breath. “God, I should go.” 

“No,” James says. He wraps his hand back around his cock and squeezes it. “Stay.” 

Draco watches, his eyes on James’ hand. His cheeks are pink and his cock is tenting his trousers. James feels a rush of desire and power as he moves his hand, keeping Draco riveted to the spot. 

“You’re not going to touch me,” James says. He grips the back of the chair with one hand to steady himself and slowly slides the foreskin down the head of his cock with the other. 

Draco nods and presses his hand into the front of his trousers. “Not going to touch you,” he says. 

James bites his lip as he moves his hand down the length of his cock and back up. It’s as if Draco’s gaze is being channeled through James’ hand, tingling on his skin. He groans softly and so does Draco. 

“You could touch yourself,” James says. Draco’s over there, still so buttoned up in his trousers and his white shirt. 

“I think I’ll watch...for now,” Draco says. “Harder.” 

“Oh fuck,” James moans. He tightens his grip just a little and strokes faster. He lingers over the head, getting his fingers slick at the slit. 

“How does it feel?” Draco asks. He’s clenching the fist of one hand and the other is rubbing over the significant bulge in his trousers. 

“With you watching me,” James says, gasping between the words. “It feels amazing, like my hand is yours, I can imagine what it’d be like if it was you. Fuck.” He twists his hand, increasing the friction. His cock is harder than he thinks it’s ever been and he can feel his balls drawing up, feel the inevitable, impending falling over starting to build. 

“Would you want me to touch you?” Draco asks and James can’t imagine how he’s not stuck his hand down his pants yet. James can't decide if Draco's control is frustrating or hot as hell, either way it's maddening.

“Yes,” James breathes. “Yes, fuck, it feels good, but it could be so much better.” 

“Faster,” Draco says, and the word makes James’ cock twitch. 

He moves his hand faster and harder on his cock and he keeps his eyes on Draco, his face, his elegant stance, his damned white shirt, and his hand where it’s got a death grip on his cock through his trousers. “I’m gonna come,” he gasps out.

“Bloody hell, you’re a gorgeous thing,” Draco says and James thrills at the praise, as he always has with Draco. “You’ve been driving me mad for – ”

For how long he’s been driving Draco mad, James doesn’t get to hear because his ears roar with white noise and he has to concentrate on staying upright and his orgasm thunders through him and he comes is thick streaks, splattering his stomach and up to his chest.

Draco stares at him, breathing heavily and James drags the chair over, so he can sit down. 

“You’re,” James says, gesturing at Draco’s crotch. “Let me.” 

“I’m not in my twenties,” Draco says. “I can wait.” 

“Wait?” James asks, still feeling the freedom and power of having Draco’s attention so intent on him. “So that means it’s a matter of time.” 

Draco shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have stayed. It's inappropriate.” 

“That’s the second time we’ve done something inappropriate. When are we going to move on to outright wrong?” James says. 

“I need to check on the suspect,” Draco says, and he turns and heads back through the door that joins the two rooms. 

James huffs with frustration and throws his discarded trousers at the closing door. 

James pulls himself together. He showers and cleans his clothes as well as he can with a charm, and by the time he goes back to the other room, Draco is completely composed and going through the files. Fletcher seems to be taking a nap. 

“What were you going to say?” James asks. “Before. Before you interrupted me,” James grins and feels a rush of delight at the slight flush that rises to Draco’s cheeks. 

“I was thinking that, since your father knows Fletcher and Fletcher seems to be under the same spell that so many people are when it comes to him, we might ask him about associates we’re forgetting, old connections he’s to any of the families that might not show up in the files.” 

“Triangulate the information from various sources,” says James, repeating a line that came up in investigation courses frequently.

“I see you paid attention on occasion,” Draco says and James feels a slight breaking down in the wall between them that Draco seems determined to keep resurrecting. 

“I always pay attention to you,” James says. 

Draco shakes his head and an expression of relief crosses his face when an owl taps at the window. “It’s from your father,” Draco says and James has a moment of absurd panic that his dad somehow knows what he just did.

“What is it?” He asks as Draco scans it. 

“They’ve had another tip and it’s a bit better this time. Our friend’s mates set a meeting with a police informant in Amsterdam. We have their hotel address. We’ll meet Brown and Helios there,” Draco says. He starts to pack their files into a small case. “They’ve gone on ahead to arrange things with the locals. We’ll move Fletcher to a Ministry holding cell here for now. Do you want to break the news to him that his information is no longer any use to us?” 

* 

Brown and Helios are waiting for them in the hotel’s kitchen. Brown looks grim and determined and James doesn’t need to ask if the others have been wakened from their comas.

She grips her wand and says, “The housekeeper confirmed the suspects, who’ve told the hotel they’re called Hermione Lovegood and Neville Longbottom, are in the room now.” 

“Longbottom gets around,” Draco mutters. “Right,” he says when Helios and Brown both remain silent. “Standard tactics. You two take the left,” he says, pointing to the two women. “We’ll take the right. Give them one chance to respond and then we’re in.” 

“Right behind you,” says James. It feels different to be walking into something _knowing_ a fight’s about to come. 

The four of them climb the stairs and take up positions on either side of room number 128. Brown touches the door with her wand and presses her ear to it. “Nothing,” she whispers. “Not a sound.”

Draco knocks on the door. There’s no answer and still no sound. He gestures to the others to get ready. He opens the door with a charm and they all spring into the room, wands drawn. 

The hotel room is small and a bit past it’s prime. There’s a slightly crooked bed by the window. A woman with curly, reddish hair is caught comically in mid-yawn. She yanks the sheet up to cover her body, although she’s wearing a shirt. James notes that their wands are both on the bedside table. 

“Stan,” she says, shaking the apparently unconscious form next to her. 

“Don’t move again,” says Brown. 

It’s rather anticlimactic. There’s no additional fight, much to Browns’s disappointment. The stolen trunks have been unceremoniously shoved into a wardrobe and Helios swears at the lack of care for their precious contents. James is sent to get two rooms for the team, and this hotel does rent by the hour. Brown and Helios take the woman to the other room, and Draco and James have the pleasure of Stan’s company.

Draco throws Stan his trousers. “Put these on and have a seat,” he says in a tone that brooks no argument. “Stan Shunpike, is it? You're in a bit of trouble.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” says Stan, but he does move the the chair that Draco has placed in the centre of the room. 

Draco nods at James and James tells Stan that he doesn’t have to say anything at all, but that it might harm him if he leaves something out that later comes to light. 

“I know, I know,” Stan says. “Look, what’s all this about?” 

“You’ve a trunk full of stolen goods. You’ve fled from Aurors three times, and there’s the small matter of attempted murder of three Ministry employees and one Gringotts employee. You’re looking at a life in Azkaban, so I’d talk,” James says. 

“Murder?” Stan flinches as he says this. “What you talkin’ about, murder?” 

“Attempted,” says James, crossing his arms and stepping into Stan’s space. 

“Oh no, he doesn’t, this is shit, bloody Fletcher,” Stan babbles. He’s shaking his head and clenching his fists. 

“What about Fletcher?” James asks. “He was eager to give you up, by the way.”

“Bastard,” Stan squawks. “I said we shouldn’t leave ‘em like that, but no, Dung says. No one will know, he says. Pay off our debts and live easy.” 

“Leave what?” James asks. 

“The bloody Aurors,” Stan says. “We didn’t bloody attack them. They was already down. I said we should get’em help, but no, Marietta and Dung says we take the stuff and leave ‘em.” 

“Wait,” James says. “You’re telling me that you found the team already unconscious, on the ground with the trunks lying next to them?” 

Stan gives James a look of grateful relief. “That’s right, that’s right. And I wanted to help’em, but the others, they wouldn’t and they took the stuff.”

“And why didn’t you take their wands?” James asks. This is the part that’s been tormenting him. He’s been thinking all along that it would have taken someone very clever to keep the monitoring going, to know to leave the wands. 

“Take their wands?” Stan asks, looking bewildered. “Wouldn’t do that, take a person’s wand. Don’t think even Dung would do that.” 

They ask Stan several more questions and keep getting the same picture of innocence and a Good Samaritan, overtaken by the will of his criminally minded associates. Finally, Draco binds Stan to his chair and they step into the hallway to see how Janice and Helios are getting on. 

Helios is already in the hall, without Janice Brown.

“You aren’t letting her kill the suspect are you?” Draco asks Helios.

“She needed the loo. Ms. Edgecomb is in her chair, waiting. She’s completely innocent, in case you’re wondering,” says Helios. “Ratted out her boyfriend the second we closed the door.” 

“Her story that they found the team already attacked?” James asks. 

Helios nods. “That what he said?” 

“It is,” Draco says. “Maybe that part’s true.” 

Brown comes sprinting down the hall, a piece of parchment in her hand. “They’re awake,” she says, waving the letter. “They’re all awake, and you won’t believe this.” 

“Someone other than these three idiots attacked them?” Helios asks. 

“Well, yes,” Janice says, skimming the letter. “Or no. Sandham noticed that a dagger was missing from one of the trunks when they had a stop on the roof by the alley where we found them. It turns out Goldwright had it – said it was made by his great-great-great-grandfather. Sandham tried to take it from him, but they struggled. The Goblin cut Sandham with the dagger and Sandham hexed Goldwright. The others tried to stop them, but the roof was steep and it sounds like someone fell – it gets unclear – and the trunks started to slide off the roof and then someone’s _Impedimenta_ hit the wrong person and they all fell.” 

There’s dead silence for a full minute. 

“Bloody hell,” says Helios. 

“You mean to tell me that this was an accident and the three dunces here got lucky?” Draco asks. 

“Sounds like,” says Janice, her mood having improved dramatically since learning that her team is okay. She looks back down at the letter. “Fletcher’s already back in London and the Deputy Head and his team will be here in about an hour to help transport these two and the trunks back to HQ. They want you two to stay behind and tie up the loose ends. I let the hotel know that you’ll need the two rooms tonight.” 

“Thanks, Janice,” says Draco. “I’ll help you get things ready for them. James, please inventory their property – the stuff that’s actually theirs. When you’re finished, take some time off and we’ll pick up again in the morning.” 

“Right, thanks,” James says, thinking that, if that wasn’t a dismissal he’s never heard one. 

He’s beginning an internal battle between disappointed resignation and determination to do something rash when Draco turns to look at him and says, “You know where I’ll be. If you’d like some company later.” 

“I’ll take you up on that,” James says and he goes to the closet where they’ve stored the suspects’ stuff. He’s determined to make quick work of it. 

*

James leans back and lets the hot water run through his hair and down his body, massaging his tired muscles. The tension and fatigue of the past couple of days begins, slowly, to run out of his body and down the drain. He soaps the flannel and gently scrubs his face. Draco is just through the wall, in the next room, probably in the shower now as well. He rubs the warm, soapy flannel over his chest and catches his breath as it scrubs over his nipples, warm and slick. 

He closes his eyes and he can see Draco, desperate to touch his cock while he watched James wank. He could feel how badly Draco wanted to touch him. He slides the lathered flannel down the flat of his stomach and through the crease of his thigh. His cock starts to fill with the feel of the water and the soap, the soft flannel and his firm hands, and images of Draco kissing him, touching him. He moves his hands away from his aching prick and keeps washing, getting every inch of him clean and soft and pliant. It would be so easy to rub himself until he came, so easy and so fast. Not now, not when he hopes that he’s getting ready to be fucked, getting ready for Draco. 

He steps out of the shower and dries himself off, rubs the towel through his hair. He pulls on trousers and a tee shirt – no pants and no socks. He’s at the door that connects the two rooms before he can lose his nerve. If Draco turns him away tonight, he’s not sure what he’ll do. 

He knocks on the door and waits. 

“Come in,” calls Draco. 

James opens the door. Draco is sitting in the chair by the window and James walks over to him. The sky outside is a riot of colour as the sun dips down to the horizon. Draco’s pale hair picks up the pink and purple and gold. He’s wearing neat, black trousers and crisp, white shirt. His shirt is open at the neck and James can see the dip between his collar bones and the fair skin of his chest. No wonder James was always the first to arrive and last to leave at academy. 

Draco stands, rising from his chair with an elegance that makes James’ skin tingle. He looks James up and down, from his bare feet to his tight tee shirt, to the slight flush that still clings to his throat and cheeks from the hot shower.

“Nice shower?” Draco asks, reaching out to touch the damp, curling ends of James’ hair. “You look…good,” he says quietly. 

“I’ve fancied you for years,” James says. He touches the soft fabric of Draco’s shirt, slips a finger in between the buttons and feels Draco’s muscles twitch when his finger makes contact with soft skin. 

Draco slides his hand around the back of James’ neck and pulls him in for a kiss. James sighs into the kiss and leans into it, Draco’s lips firm and warm against his. Draco makes a soft, contented sound and James feels the slide of Draco’s tongue on his bottom lip. He opens to Draco and shivers at the electric jolt of Draco’s tongue sliding into his mouth, along his tongue. 

“Wow,” he says as he pulls back and presses his forehead to Draco’s.

“Indeed,” Draco says and he comes in for another knee-buckling kiss. 

Draco’s hand slides down James’ back. James melts against him, angling his head to deepen the kiss. Draco rucks up James’ shirt in the back and James feels his warm hand on his skin. 

“Yes,” he murmurs and he wraps his arms around Draco, loving the way Draco’s strong body feels in his arms. 

Draco slips his hand down the back of James’ trousers and he laughs softly when he feels James’ bare arse. “You’re barely dressed.”

“I was hoping I didn’t need many clothes.” The sound of Draco’s laughter and the feel of his hand on James’ skin make James feel reckless.

“Mm, I think you still have too many,” Draco says and his fingers are at the button of James’ trousers, expertly flipping it open. 

James shimmies out of his trousers and starts on his shirt. “Fair enough," James says. His heart is nearly beating out of his chest. He wants Draco so badly and can hardly believe this is happening. 

Draco catches James’ hand and presses it against his chest. “Let me,” says Draco as he unbuttons James’ shirt and pushes it off his shoulders. “Bloody hell, you’re gorgeous,” says Draco when James is standing before him, completely naked, and James feels the awe in his voice to his toes. “I knew you would be. Always knew.” 

“Always?” James asks. He reaches to touch the soft skin of Draco’s throat. Draco’s gaze sweeps over his body, and James is thankful for the years of training. His cock is hard and dark and Draco’s gaze stops there.

“I’ve watched you for years now and you’ve driven me mad,” Draco says. He reaches for James’ cock and James thinks he might lose his mind when Draco’s sure fingers circle it. 

“I think about you all the time,” James admits. Draco’s hand, stroking his cock from the root to the tip and back again, seems to have a direct line to his mouth because he babbles, “I’ve wanted you since my first week of training.” 

“That long,” Draco says as he leans in to press his mouth to James’ throat. He closes his fist over the head of James’ cock and squeezes and James can feel it when Draco’s hand becomes slick and slides easily over his cock.

“Oh, oh, yes,” James gasps. His tips his head back, exposing his throat to Draco’s hungry mouth. Jame’s hands land on Draco’s hips and he nearly falls to his knees at the feel of Draco’s fine wool trousers, him completely dressed, while James is standing before him, naked, and Draco’s hand drives him closer and closer to coming all over Draco’s expensive clothes. 

James grabs the back of Draco’s head and fists his hand in his hair. He pulls him in for a kiss, all teeth and tongues and he’s moaning as Draco’s hand moves on his cock. 

“There, yes,” Draco murmurs against James’ lips. “There it is,” he says as James starts to fuck into his fist, his muscles trembling. He's so close and Draco's whispering softly that he's beautiful and Draco wants him. “Perfect,” Draco says and James comes into Draco’s hand, his vision blurring and blood roaring in his ears. 

Draco kisses him deep and slow and James lets Draco hold him up while he catches his breath. James hums with contentment and yields to Draco’s mouth and tongue and hands, feeling pliant and languid. He gently sucks Draco’s tongue into his mouth and can feel the desire and tension rolling off Draco. 

“Don’t tell me you’re okay this time,” James says, rubbing his hand over the hard bulge in Draco’s perfectly tailored trousers. There’s no way he’s letting Draco out of his sight before he sees him come this time. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” 

“As hot as it is to be naked while you’re all buttoned up in your fancy clothes. I think you should lose the trousers. Besides,” James says, looking pointedly at the stripes of his come on Draco’s black trousers. “Looks like I messed them up a bit.” 

Draco reaches for his belt and James bats his hand away and unfastens the buckle himself. His fingers are trembling. He can’t get Draco’s flies undone fast enough. 

“Can I suck you?” James asks, licking his lips as he watches his own hands push Draco’s trousers down his hips, exposing Draco’s pants and the outline of his hard cock. 

“Yes,” gasps Draco, his breath catching when James slides his hand into the front of Draco’s pants.

“Fuck,” James says. He falls to his knees in front of Draco and pulls his pants down. James circles Draco’s cock with his fingers and leans to press his lips to the tip. 

Draco sucks in a sharp breath. “Please,” he says and James feels a renewed wave of want wash over him.

James wraps his arms around Draco’s thighs and slides his hands up to curve around the perfect swell of his arse. He draws Draco closer, slowly pushing Draco’s cock into his mouth. Draco is heavy and thick and warm on his tongue and James takes his time, sucking and working his mouth slowly down Draco’s cock. He looks up through his fringe and Draco is looking down at him, watching his cock slide deeper into James’ mouth. The expression on Draco’s face tells him all he needs to know about the view from Draco’s vantage point. 

James relaxes his throat when the tip of Draco’s cock hits the back of his mouth and lets Draco go just a bit deeper. 

Draco moans, working his hands into James’s hair. James pulls back, letting Draco’s cock slide almost all the way out of his mouth. Draco is still looking down, watching every move James makes. “Are you hard again? Dear Merlin, Potter.”

In answer, James sucks harder and circles the base of Draco’s cock with his fingers. 

“Touch yourself while you suck me,” Draco says. “Yeah, like that,” he groans when James moves one of his hands to his own cock and starts to stroke in time to the slide of his mouth on Draco’s cock. 

“Fucking hell,” Draco says and he reaches down and hauls James up to kiss him. 

James’ world narrows to Draco’s mouth and the feeling of their bodies, warm skin against skin, pressed together. He pulls Draco’s bottom lip between his teeth and Draco moves against him. James groans when their cocks slide against each other. “So hot,” James says as the friction builds. 

He’s going to come again if they keep this up and when he thinks he can’t stand it any more, Draco grabs his hand and pulls it to his mouth. James watches as Draco sucks two of James’ fingers into his mouth and wraps his tongue around them. The suction and the wet heat go straight to his cock and he has to bite his lip to stop himself from pulling himself off right now. 

Draco releases the suction and James slides his fingers out of Draco’s mouth, spit-slick, and he drags them over Draco’s bottom lip as he does. Draco cups James’ arse with one hand and pulls him closer with the other. Nipping at James’ ear with his teeth, Draco whispers hoarsely, “Open yourself.” 

“On one condition,” James says, shocked that he can still speak at all. “That I’m doing it for your cock.” 

“Turn around,” says Draco. “I want to watch you.” 

James turns and braces himself on the dressing table with one hand. His face heats at the idea that Draco is standing behind him, examining every inch of his body. Draco’s hand touches his shoulder, warm contact that calms him and turns him on at the same time. The hand trails down James’ back and over his arse. Draco murmurs soft words of praise. 

James bends at the waist and reaches back to slip the fingers that were just in Draco’s mouth along his crease. Draco’s fingers trail after his and he must have cast a charm James didn’t hear because James’ skin is left slick in their wake. He sucks in his breath and slides the tip of his finger through the conjured lube and then inside his body. Draco hisses a soft _yes_.

“Like that?” James asks, working the finger deeper. 

“Exactly,” says Draco and James adds another finger, Draco’s attention making him feel like he’s flying. 

James’ cock is hard as stone and dripping, jutting out in front of him. He’s aching to take it in hand, but he’s going to wait. He pushes his fingers deeper inside, stretching and setting his nerve endings on fire. Next time he comes, it’s going to be with Draco inside him. 

“You gonna fuck me?” He asks, arching his back and spreading his legs so Draco can see more. 

“Oh, yes,” says Draco. His hands are on James’ hips and James senses more than he hears Draco fall to his knees behind James. “Don’t stop what you’re doing,” Draco says, and the only reason James can imagine stopping the delicious, slick slide of his fingers in and out of his arse is to make way for Draco’s cock. 

He feels Draco’s breath on his arse and he groans in anticipation. Draco presses open-mouthed kisses onto James’ skin and James is nearly mad with want. He arches his back again and rocks his hips back, inviting Draco closer. 

“Fuck, yes, yes,” James moans when Draco’s tongue circles his fingers, tastes the place where James is fucking himself. James adds another finger, the way eased by the wet, warm slide of Draco’s tongue. “Please, now,” James says, gasping and thrusting back against his fingers and Draco’s mouth. 

Draco pulls James’ hand away and James feels filthy and open, his stretched hole there for Draco to take. He grips the dressing table in front of him with both hands and spreads his legs. Draco’s hands press against his arse, spreading him, and his tongue circles James’ rim, pushing the tip inside. 

“Fuck me,” James begs. 

He feels Draco pull away and for a split second he regrets asking Draco to stop what he was doing. The feeling of regret is gone as soon as Draco’s chest is pressed against his back and James can feel Draco’s long, hard cock slide through his slick crease. 

“You want me to fuck you?” Draco asks, his breath ghosting over James’ ear. Draco’s arms come around, holding James, as Draco presses their bodies tight against each other. 

James rocks back and delights in the friction of Draco’s cock on his skin. “Yeah,” James says. “Now.” 

Draco pulls back and James holds his breath. The head of Draco’s cock is at his entrance and James thinks he’s going to come right there when he feels the stretch and slight burn of Draco pushing inside. 

“Okay?” Draco asks, stilling with his cock barely inside James’ body. 

James growls and pushes back, forcing Draco deeper. He’s waited long enough. He’s waited since his first day of training and he’s not waiting anymore. “Fuck me,” James commands, and Draco pulls out slowly and thrusts back in until his hips are flush against James’ arse. 

“Like that?” Draco asks, circling his hips and stretching James more. 

“Harder,” says James.

And then Draco lets go of his tight control. He grips James’ waist and fucks him hard, his cock pulling almost all the way out before he slams back into James. 

“You’re arse is amazing,” Draco says, his voice rough and staccato. “What a pretty little fuck. I _knew it_ , knew you’d be so good.” 

James thrusts back, meeting Draco on every stroke. Draco’s words are driving James as high as his cock and James is dizzy and desperate and he needs to come. 

“Oh my god, so good,” James says. “Fuck me,” he babbles because he can’t form any other words. “Fuck me, _yes_.” 

And then Draco’s hand wraps around James’ cock and James is fucking his fist as Draco fucks his arse. 

“Come for me,” Draco says. His thrusts are sharp and frantic now. His hand smears the wetness from the tip of James’ cock, bringing James closer and closer. 

James is so full and his cock is so sensitive and Draco leans and bites the place where James’ shoulder joins his neck. James comes with a force that makes him curl his toes. He’s only still standing because Draco’s holding him up. His orgasm slams through him with the momentum of a wave and he feels every drop as it pulses out of him, decorating the dresser and covering Draco’s hand. Draco pushes in deep and stills as James’ body shudders and clenches around his cock. 

“Fuck, Potter, holy hell,” Draco says. He pulls out and pulls James over to the bed, pushes him down on his back. 

Draco kneels between James’ spread legs. He’s so beautiful, with his perfect hair wild and mussed, his chest flushed, and his hand circling his hard, wet cock. 

James wants him so badly, wants to make Draco come. He hooks his hands under his knees and pulls them back, exposing himself to Draco. “Come on, fuck me,” James says. “Come inside me.” 

Draco makes a helpless sound and falls forward, capturing James’ mouth in a kiss. He presses his cock back inside James and James digs his heels into Draco’s arse so he can thrust up against him. Draco’s hair falls into his face and with a look of supreme concentration, he fucks into James. James’ hands twist in the sheets, anchoring himself as Draco pistons into him. It doesn’t take long, Draco was so close before, until he’s groaning and jerking and babbling a stream of filthy endearments about how good James’ arse feels on his cock. 

Draco eases James’ legs back down to the bed and collapses, covering James’ body with his. James closes his eyes at the feel of tender kisses on his neck and jaw and the soft huff of breath on his skin as Draco whispers, “That was brilliant.” 

Draco slides off of James and lies next to him and James is suddenly at a loss as to what to do. He wants to stay here, warm in bed with Draco, feeling his skin, but they have two rooms and James doesn’t know what to expect.

“Get some sleep,” says Draco, curling on his side so his back is to James. “Early morning tomorrow.” He shifts back a bit so his back his against James’ chest. 

James wraps his arm around Draco and presses his mouth to Draco’s shoulder blade, a grin spreading on his face. He reckons that’s his invitation to stay. 

James jerks awake with the absolute certainty that he’s overslept and missed their Portkey home. Draco is sleeping peacefully, on his back, his arms up over his head. His body is stretched out to beautiful effect. James props himself up on his elbow so he can look. Draco’s pale hair is spread on the pillow and James touches the silky strands. 

James hasn’t had many lovers and only two with whom he woke up on a regular basis. This quiet, sleepy intimacy feels new and he glances at the clock, willing the ticking hands to slow down. When the clock chimes, it will be time to head back to London and regular life – him to the gruffly supportive mentorship of Helios and Draco to the eager trainees. And them both to their own beds.

James’ fingers move from Draco’s hair to his shoulders and the soft, smooth skin of his chest. Draco’s breath shifts and his eyes flutter open. 

“Morning,” says James quietly, almost sorry he woke Draco up. Draco sighs and James says, “ I don’t want it to be morning.” 

Draco stretches his neck, rolling his head from side to side. He looks at James with a bemused expression on his face. “Oh, I don’t know,” he says, covering James’ hand on his chest with his own. “This is a nice way to wake up and I’d bet we can make it even nicer.”

He pulls James down into a kiss. James wants to melt into those warm lips, lose himself in the slow slide of Draco’s tongue against his. He can’t. 

“What is it?” Draco asks. 

James shakes his head. “It’s stupid,” he says. 

Draco rubs the back of his hand along James’ jaw. He leans and kisses James with a tenderness that steals James’ breath. “Tell me,” he says. 

“I almost wish we hadn’t solved it, the case.” 

Draco pulls back so he can look James in the eye. “What? Your first case solved. I mean, I’ll admit that it being a bunch of idiots with unbelievable luck as opposed to a criminal mastermind is a bit disappointing, but there you are.” 

James doesn’t say anything. He feels silly, exposed, and he can’t bring himself to say what he’s thinking. 

“You’re serious,” says Draco.

“It’s only that, when we go back, you’ll go back to academy and I’ll go back to being a rookie and, yeah.” James rolls the edge of the sheet between his fingers. The sheets are warm from their bodies and James doesn’t ever want to get out of this bed.

Draco takes James’ hand and laces their fingers together. “The other day, you asked me why I became an Auror.” 

“Yeah,” says James, looking at the way their hands fit together, his broader and shorter, Draco’s long and elegant. 

“I spent a lot of my young life being told I'd only one choice. It might have taken me longer than I wish, but I decided to make another. I also learned younger than many do that life is short and it’s better to go after what you want than to regret it later.” 

James feels a smile spread on his face. He turns his head on the pillow to look at Draco, who’s smiling too. “So, I should go after what I want now, when I’m young?” James asks.

“Definitely,” Draco says. 

James moves so he’s lying on top of Draco, lips inches from Draco’s. “We’ve an hour ‘til the Portkey and then we’ll go back to London, and we’ll see what happens.” 

Draco’s hands smooth down James’ back and settle on his arse. James can feel Draco’s cock stirring beneath him and Draco rolls his hips and leans up to kiss James, muttering, “We’ll see.”

**Author's Note:**

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